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God why do you put up with this?
You should make a rule not to allow people like me to come to you. You should put up a sign or something. I'm a repeating offender, God! What's wrong with you?
I know. I know what's wrong with you: You love me. We've talked about this before. But don't you know that people who love get hurt, God? Like I was telling my friend, I feel like I've been tossed a bunch of balls I'm supposed to juggle. I was doing all right earlier, I thought, but now I'm on the ground now, looking at all the things I've dropped. I know that none of them are broken, but still I feel frustrated that I'm still getting things wrong.
God, of course I don't want to reject your love. It's just that I'm frustrated, and I guess I feel better when I feel like I've earned it a little.